The used Harley cost a pretty penny and didn’t look anything like “Captain America’s” chopper, but I had to taste the wild wind and the freedom of the open road. I was off to discover America some 50 years after Peter and Dennis.
Giving up the Interstates was difficult. Too easy.
But the “real” America wasn’t much more difficult.
I stopped in some town in the middle of Missouri. Or was it Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania or New York?
Same truck stop, same conversation, same culture.
Checking my phone for the 50th time that day, had I really found freedom?
word count = 100
I’m still in vacation mode, but will try to visit more stories than the last two weeks…